


Shoes of the Highest Excalibur or The Shoe Fic

by merlocked



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merlocked/pseuds/merlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin, a lowly manservant, wishes to woo his prince. On his birthday, Morgana gives him a pair of high-heel shoes to try and win over the royal prat. Gaius is full of insults, Gwen shakes her head frequently, Kilgharrah is a lil' bitch, and Gwaine pops in for seemingly no reason. If it's not a crackfic, it's certainly major essence of crackfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoes of the Highest Excalibur or The Shoe Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Here lies the result of boredom in English class. This is what I come up with. Anyways, I hope it at least makes you laugh.
> 
> There's a PLAYLIST for this fanfic at 8 Tracks! Below is a html code you can copy/paste to take you right there since I am clueless as to how links work on here. Anyways, the username for my 8 Tracks account is "merlocked" so it's easy enough:
> 
> https://8tracks.com/merlocked/shoes-of-the-highest-excalibur

In a land of myth and a time of magic, there lived a blonde prat. This blonde prat also happened to be the prince of Camelot and the dictionary definition of womanizer (save for the part where there were no dictionaries). 

This prat had a name and a manservant: Arthur and Merlin respectively. They each played a key role in the story of the Middle Ages. That is, Arthur being the heroic, girl-obsessed, oblivious tool and Merlin playing the part of the clumsy, big-eared, lovestruck servant.

Being a servant to Arthur had its perks and its downsides. For example, Merlin got to change his prince, spend hours by his bed (changing the sheets, unfortunately), and was able to be by his side practically every moment of the day. On the other hand, he was yelled at virtually all the time, had to organize outings for the blonde and his Girl of the Week, and was forced into battle armed with no weapons and no protective gear whatsoever. Merlin still didn’t understand the reason behind this.

However, the young sorcerer put up with this pain in the tuckus because, well, he had a rather nice tuckus. Merlin quite liked to stare at it sometimes and one day he found that he had grown a sort of fancying towards his master. This was a bit of a predicament, as I’m sure you can imagine. The brunette was forced to secretly pine day in and day out. To make it worse, everyone in Camelot knew of his feelings towards Arthur except for the Royal Prat himself.

“Merlin! Come out of your silly daydreaming and take off my clothes!” ordered the blonde.

“Um, pardon?” 

“Are you daft? The ball is in less than an hour and I must escort Princess Mithian! Change me immediately, you idiot!”

It was the all the emotional distress and repressed, one-sided sexual tension that brought the manservant to the king’s ward’s chambers late that night after the grand event. Arthur had looked simply dashing in his best clothes, wooing every female with or without two legs (believe it or not, there was a one-legged royal at the affair and Arthur had successfully charmed her pant off). 

“Merlin, honey, you just need a little confidence,” Morgana’s serving girl was assuring. Gwen was the sweetest, most innocent person that the brunette had had the pleasure to meet.

“Yes,” Morgana began. “In order to get in my man-whore of a step-brother’s pants, you’re going to have to kick it up a notch.” The king’s ward, however, was pretty much the exact opposite of her servant.

If truth was to be told, Merlin was scared to death of Morgana. The girl was a meddling, crafty, outspoken witch and her name made even some of the bravest knights tremble. She was slowly making her way through all of the men in Camelot, which was just a tad hypocritical, given that she had just called Arthur a man-whore. In addition, did she know that her neckline was that low? Every day it seemed that a smidge more of her cleavage would be showing. Merlin had thought of suggesting a tailor on numerous occasions because it was just a matter of time before Morgana started walking around with no dress on at all.

“Well then we might as well give up,” Merlin started. “He only sees me as a useless servant. Nothing more.”

Morgana threw her arms around the boy. “Oh, dear. We just have to think of a way to grab his attention. Knock his knickers off.”

“Do you mean, ‘knock his socks off’?” Gwen asked, confused.

The man-eater ward pulled away from Merlin and explained, “Of course not! Socks haven’t been invented yet. Well, at least not the type of socks you are thinking of. And besides, I’m certain that our little Merlin would much rather knock his knickers off instead.”

Merlin blushed as Morgana tapped a thoughtful finger to her chin. Gwen stood still; obviously haunted by the mental image that Morgana had put in her mind.

“I’ve got it!” the ward exclaimed.

Merlin frowned. “Got what, exactly?”

“Sweetie, your birthday is this week, correct?” asked Morgana.

“Oh no,” the serving girl cried, apparently in on whatever her mistress was planning. The other was still clueless, however.

“Yes…”

The royal clapped her hands together and squealed, “Perfect!”

Merlin was frustrated now. He could hardly remember why he kept coming to the girls for advice. “What?”

Gwen sighed and put a semi-comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Best not to ask.” 

This was probably true, and so Merlin thanked the females for nothing really. He left them as Morgana began smirking that trademark grin that she had somehow recently perfected and performed in every single scene now. 

~~

The week went by in a blur of setting up secret dates for Arthur and the next poor girl to fall into his heartbreaking trap. Merlin assumed that his master must have been getting exceedingly desperate, as his last chosen lady was the head cook who sported a bushy unibrow and something that resembled a tail. Had he lived in the twenty-first century, Merlin might have made a video montage of the week and dubbed it to “Girls” by the Beastie Boys.

Today, however, was a special day. It was the anniversary of the brunette’s birth. Merlin did not see this day as particularly special as he had to wake up bright and early to bring his master breakfast as per usual. The only difference was that Gaius made his favorite pudding at the end of the day.

On the sorcerer’s way to the kitchen, he ran smack into a knight. Merlin mumbled his apologizes before the man waved him off and wished him to have a happy birthday. The brunette looked up and smiled, recognizing the man immediately.

“Thank you, Farmer Knight.”

“Certainly, Merlin.” The two then parted ways. 

Ah, Farmer Knight. The manservant remembered when Arthur had a peasant pose as himself in a jousting tournament. The prince was determined to win fairly and not just because he was of royal blood. Farmer Knight had been that peasant, Arthur had won the tournament, and then the screenwriters snuck the peasant into Camelot’s knights as an extra and thought nobody would notice. 

Merlin noticed.

Shaking his head, he continued his walk to the kitchens. Unibrow-Lady was there preparing the pies. She knew of Merlin’s affections towards the prince and felt it necessary to say, “Arthur and I had the sex.”

Now, Merlin was almost positive that they did not, in fact, have the sex. However he took Arthur’s tray and staged an unprofessional outburst. “Why don’t you and your god-forsaken pies go despoil a manicorn?” 

He turned on his heels to march out to the jolly tune of the rest of the kitchen staff slow-clapping. Sir Gwaine happened to be a witness of the exchange and shed a tear of admiration.

~~

“’Tis destiny, my love. Destiny and chicken!”

“Arthur, what the hell are you doing?” Merlin walked in on the prince practicing his pick-up lines on an armchair. This was going to be a long day.

“Practicing my wooing techniques.” The prat declared, rolling his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“That chair is never going to want you to take its flower.”

“Should I take it to the tavern first?”

Merlin set down the tray of breakfast foods and tried not to let his palm make contact with his forehead. The prince sat down in his chair and folded his hands on his lap, looking serious all of a sudden.

“Merlin,” he began.

The servant’s stomach filled with butterflies. Maybe today would be the day that the prince returned his affections! What a joyous birthday it would be! Yes, this could be rather excellent indeed. “Yes, Sire?”

“I have been informed that today is your birthday.”

“It is.”

The prince reached behind his back and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to his manservant.

Merlin furrowed his eyebrows, “A coupon for twenty-five percent off a bucket of griffin wings at The Rising Sun?”

“Happy Birthday!”

The emotional trauma and internal distress caused by this was enough to send Merlin back to Morgana’s chambers after supper.

Gwen scurried over to the boy as soon as he entered, looking a bit deranged. “Run, Merlin. Run while you still can.”

“Wha-”

Morgana chose that moment to enter, using a seemingly coincidental plot device. “Happy birthday to the boy! Oh, just wait until you see your gift!”

Gwen shot him pained eyes, “Run.”

Merlin was thinking about taking her word on that, but the ward had flashed her eyes golden and held him in place. “Precautions, dear. No need to bolt.” 

Morgana left the room briefly and came back with a perfectly wrapped gift, no matter where she found wrapping paper in the Middle Ages. “Open,” she demanded.

So Merlin did. Inside was a pair of ladies shoes. They were black, sleek, and high-heeled. The heels were adorned with a single white bow, creating an accent of sorts.

Gwen had to turn and leave the room, as the second-hand embarrassment was too much for her to bear. Morgana, however, looked into Merlin’s terrified eyes and told him, “Now. You will wear these every day. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

Merlin nodded once.

“Good!” She undid the magic that held the manservant in place and smiled. “Ta-ta!”

~~

Late that night Merlin returned to his own chambers with the two presents. Gaius eyed him suspiciously when the boy sat down and put the high-heels on his feet.

“Merlin,” Gaius stated plainly, “You look like a hooker.”

“A what?”

“A prostitute.”

“Uh,” the wizard tried.

“A woman of the night.”

Merlin hurriedly put his regular shoes on and stood up. “I’m going to see the god damn dragon.”

Gaius simply shrugged and sat back down, using magic to cook their dinner because apparently everyone is god damn magical in this god damn show except god damn Arthur and Gwen. Jesus Christ.

~~

“You were right to come to me, young boy.”

“Actually my title screen says ‘young man’ now so…”

The dragon looked at him skeptically and used a breath of fire to light his cigar. He puffed once, adjusted his ascot, and spoke again.

“Merlin.” 

The warlock frowned. “Yes?”

“Hush.”

“What?”

“I am pausing to create a dramatic effect.”

Silence.

“Merlin,” the great dragon began again.

“Yes, oh mighty dragon.”

“You mustn’t wear those shoes.”

The warlock shuffled his feet in aggravation and countered with, “But you see, if I don’t wear those shoes, then I will face the wrath of Morgana I’m gonna be straight with you right now, Mr. Dragon. She scares the shit out of me.”

A solemn nod. “That is because she is a skanky bitch,” the dragon supplied wisely and sagely. “Your destiny rests on the soles of these stilettos. You must promise me that you will not wear them.”

“Okay.”

“This isn’t going to be like the time I made you that super-dangerous sword and told you to give it to Arthur only and then you gave it to his dad and then threw it in a fucking lake, is it?”

“Uh,” the boy responded smartly. “No?”

“Just remember, young warlock, you are the octopus with tentacles of mead. Do not let Arthur eat the mead, because…”

Here lies an awkward pause lasting over two minutes.

“It is too hot.”

Merlin gave the dragon a funny look. “What does that even mean?”

“Look,” the great dragon began. “I am so high right now. I don’t even know.”

The manservant took this as his cue to leave, slowly making his way back to the physician’s quarters. He had to be careful not to get caught exiting the dragon’s chambers, but not too careful because no one seemed to care that a big-ass fire-breathing dragon was right under their feet. All of Camelot seemed to overlook this fact, it seemed.

~~

Merlin woke the next morning with a terrible headache. The dragon had been so confusing, Morgana had been so terrifying, and Arthur had been so, so attractive. 

The boy walked into the kitchen area in his high-heels, choosing to ignore the dragon’s warning as per usual. Gaius, who wakes up bright and early for experimenting, took one look at the sorcerer and commented, “You slutting scullion.”

Merlin walked up to Gaius real slow-like and pointed an index finger right to his spectacles. “You know what old man? I’m getting real tired of your shit.”

Headache turning into a migraine, the boy turned rather flamboyantly on his heels and sashayed out of the room.

Upon entering his room, Merlin found his master in a compromising position with his dresser, whispering sweet nothings to its handles.

“Must you always try to shag the furniture? Honestly?”

The prince composed himself quickly and questioned, “Does this line work on you?” Arthur moved entirely too close to his servant’s ear and spoke softly. “Are you a sorcerer? Because you just blew me off my feet.”

The brunette responded casually with, “Yes, I am actually. But the line? No.”

“Oh, really? Neato.” Arthur nodded business casually.

“Yes, yes,” Merlin commented in a rather business formal manner.

The blonde prat looked thoughtful for a second before saying, “That would explain the time you said I slayed that dragon, but the body was completely gone.”

“You were a grade-A dumbass there, mate.”

Arthur lifted a finger to protest but ended up with, “Yes I- what in the land of Avalon are you wearing?”

Merlin looked down at his attire. “Clothes. In fact, the exact same clothes I always wear because I only have two outfits. Though, sometimes wardrobing likes to switch it up by going for a blue shirt with a blue neckerchief. Actually, all of us really only have two or three outfits, with the exception of Morgana who gets five thousand dresses to pick from-”

‘I meant on your feet, you idiot!”

“Shoes.”

“Get rid of them!”

It was the demandingly sexual tone of voice Arthur used and the amount of vocalized disapproval regarding his shoes that sent Merlin to Morgana’s chambers after dinner.

“I’m not wearing them anymore, Morgana. I refuse! There is literally nothing you could say to change my mind. I have made it up. The shoes are vile creatures and everyone hates them, myself included. They haven’t helped to solve my predicament with Arthur at all. I would take them back to the store you got them from if you had only given me a gift receipt. Where did you get them from anyways? Never mind that. Get rid of them! These shoes have caused me nothing but trouble. I flat out REFUSE to-”

“Keep wearing the shoes.”

“Okay.”

~~

The next day was even worse. Merlin had woken up, got called a “cockquette” by Gaius, which honestly wasn’t clever at all. He then had to tend to Arthur all day in the most uncomfortable shoes in all the kingdoms. The blonde kept staring at him as well, though not in a preferable way. Arthur was looking at Merlin like he had grown a fluffy unibrow and a tail, though he did go for that sort of thing.

Morgana had been particularly unhelpful after dinner when he went to visit due to the growing angst and still-present love for Arthur. Gwen explained her displeasure with the manservant’s new shoes. It seemed as though the brunette should have listened to the dragon after all. With this in mind, he visited the sagacious animal far after dark.

“You were right, oh wise one.”

The dragon puffed at his cigar. (If it was a cigar. Merlin didn’t really know, as cigars hadn’t been invented yet.) “I usually am, young warlock. And yet you choose to ignore my words. That hurts, Merlin. John hurts.”

“I thought your name was Kilgharrah?”

The beast rolled his eyes, obviously tired of explaining this dilemma. “Yes, but you don’t actually figure that out until season three.”

“Ah,” the manservant nodded.

“So, oh magnificent John, I am getting rid of the shoes. The heels were a failed try at getting a pretentious prince to pass me a peek, but the prat portrays me as a prostitute.”

The monster clapped two tiny, unproportional hands. “Excellent use of alliteration, young warlock. The readers will be most pleased with your many literary talents.”

The boy furrowed his brows and continued, “Yes, well, writing techniques will not help solve my problem here.”

“I gave you my advice once before and you chose to ignore it. However, it is not too late to fix this. I repeat to you, young boy-”

“Young MAN,” came an interjection from Merlin.

“I’m really confused on what season this story takes place in,” Dragon/John/Kilgharrah complained.

“Me too.”

“Anyhow, you must remember not to wear those shoes. Not even the Old Religion’s magic could help you pull those off.”

With these perspicacious words, the boy returned to his chambers once again, feeling that the plot of this story has a repeating theme, much like the show itself. Merlin finds it charming anyways.

~~

The rest of the week, the manservant went about his lowly duties. He performed every task from mucking out the horses’ stalls to washing endless piles of laundry. All the while, he could feel a pair of eyes staring at him. 

Arthur couldn’t help it. The prince was simply drawn to Merlin in ways that he couldn’t quite place. At first, he was genuinely concerned about his servant’s fashion sense and judgment skills. Now the royal was left questioning his own judgment skills along with his sexuality. How very like he and his manservant’s mainstream fanfiction.

Days had gone by and the issue had turned into a full-on infatuation. All the while, the sorcerer remained clueless of the prince’s newfound affections. He did not seem to notice the sheer lack of girls that visited his master’s chambers, nor did he notice the true meaning behind the gazes he was so carelessly shot.

On the other side of the coin, Merlin felt three thousand percent done with the situation. Day in and day out he was called a “frivolous fancy woman” or a “tenuous tart” or today’s choice of “hormonal harlot” by Gaius. Gwen sent him pitying looks whenever they walked past each other. Morgana refused to let up on whatever cruel form of punishment this was and the oh-so-great dragon was being a perplexing little bitch.

He had visited Kilgharrah only one other time and the creature had told Merlin to, and quote, “Man up and sock the little harpy.” Seeing as the warlock knew nothing about socking small harpies (and een less about standing up to Morgana), he chose to ignore the beast’s words for the third time in this tale.

So here Merlin was, watching Arthur train with his knights. The prince really was a sight to behold and obviously the best fighter in all of Albion. He had a way with the sword, maneuvering the weapon with ease and control. Merlin supposed that he himself could handle magic in such a way, but until then he would be stuck handing the prince new shields and weaponry during practice, keeping to himself.

“Ah, Merlin,” and voice came from behind him.

The wizard flinched, instantly recognizing the voice, but trying to understand it’s purpose here. Without turning around he replied, “Morgana. You’re the voice, I presume.”

“Merlin, we have to step up our game. You have to stop sitting in silence and living in fear and make a move already! Just… try and understand it.” Morgana exclaimed, and rather too loudly. Percival turned around and eyed the pair suspiciously. Merlin eyed him back suspiciously because what was he doing in a story that took place in early season three? Suspicious.

Morgana huffed, “We need to regroup!”

The brunette nodded, looking away from Percy. “Okay, but not here. Arthur usually let’s me go at-”

“NOW.” And just like that the little harpy grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the weaponry shed. Thankfully, no one had noticed or he would have some explaining to do later. He really didn’t want any Mergana shippers meddling in this story.

Once they were safely in the shed with the door closed, Morgana began to reel out a stream of words “Okay so here’s how it goes. The plan should have worked by now. Arthur is good. Too good. He is resisting the power. Thus we must up the power. Thus Leon.”

“wha-”

“Howdy guys.” Leon walked through the door carrying a sleek, purple box. He closed the door behind him and opened the lid of the container and frowned.

Morgana clicked her tongue against her cheek. “What is it?” 

“It’s not in here. One second.” Leon’s eyes flashed gold and shiny red stilettos appeared inside the box.

Merlin threw his arms in the air and expressed, “Why am I not surprised? Ask me why I’m not surprised!”

“Why are you surpr-” 

“Shut up, Leon,” the witch commanded.

Leon shut up.

The terrifying woman pointed at the shoes and looked at Merlin. “Put them on.”

Merlin put the shoes on.

“Merlin,” she made eye contact with the sorcerer and kept from blinking for longer than should by physically possible. “Woo.”

Well shit.

~~

The shy little warlock walked out of the shed leaving Morgana and Leon to make out in the dark room because everyone ships them in the fanfics and Merlin can’t quite figure out why.

“MERLIN!” came from a very angry-sounding and quickly-approaching Arthur. “Where have you been? You are meant to be switching out my-”

A silence ensued. The prince had seen the new shoes.

Embarrassed, Merlin ducked his head. This whole shoe ordeal had gotten hopelessly out of hand. He had best explain the whole situation before he was out of a job and worse; a friend.

“Look, Arthur-”

“Follow me.” The blonde closed his eyes and swallowed. This was a dirty, rotten game that Arthur’s manservant was playing. In a matter of days, Merlin had the prince going out of his mind fantasizing about the brunette and his damn shoes. It was too much. The royal had given in and had no intention of getting out now.

Arthur closed his fingers around the other’s wrist and pulled him strongly to the left. The pair walked into the castle, down hallways, and through corridors. When he had found an alcove where no others would have any business being in, he turned Merlin around and pinned him to the wall. 

The warlock’s eyes grew three times his size. His heart beat hard and fast, seeming to pound right out of his chest. His hands were held tightly above his head. There was no escaping the situation this time.

“You’ve been playing with me, haven’t you, MERlin,” Arthur whispered. He leant in closer, closer.

The brunette swallowed hard.

“I don’t appreciate it. I’m the one who gives the orders around here, not you.”

A squirm.

“I’m supposed to hold all power, but look how the round tables have turned! You’re something special, Merls. You and those fucking shoes have me going insane.”

The prince moved closer. Closer. Close enough for Merlin to feel the ghost of Arthur’s mouth shadowing on his ears.

“That wasn’t very nice of you. I could put you in the stocks for this,” the blonde smirked, making Merlin’s knees weaken considerably.

“But you won’t, right?” the manservant croaked.

“No.”

And it may have been this moment, or perhaps a few moments after (Merlin wasn’t counting), that their lips crashed together violently like waves in a storm. Locking and unlocking like sharp-teethed keys fitting together perfectly and improperly. 

Arthur moved down to his manservant’s neck commanding, “You are to never wear those old boots of yours again.” Merlin nodded hastily and smiled warmly despite the state he and his prince had found themselves in.

The blonde made a rude gesture, the brunette laughed, and Arthur lifted his manservant into his arms, carrying him bridal-style to his chambers. 

“Ya!” the warlock exclaimed, kicking the royal’s thigh.

Arthur frowned. “Merlin, I am not a horse.”

“No but you had better pony on up to your chambers before I change my mind about all this ‘woo the prince’ business.”

“That was awful and I’m not even sure if I can take you to my chambers anymore.”

“You love it, bitch.”

~~

Arthur carried Merlin all the way to his bed, laying him down carefully. He then ripped his shirt off in one fluid motion, which shouldn’t be possible.

“How did you do that?”

“Oh, I’m magic,” The prince casually responded, shrugging once.

Merlin saw the Druid tattoo on the prat’s chest and just sat; speechless and unmoving. “I am done with this show.”

“Hm?” Arthur asked, crawling onto the crimson sheets of the plush bed.

“Oh, nothing.”

That response seemed to be good enough for Arthur. The blonde climbed on top of his friend, pinning him once more, smiling in spite of himself.

Arthur paused only briefly to instruct, “Off with the neckerchief, you poof.”

Merlin complied but only after he retorted, “There is nothing poofy about my neckerchief, you tease.”

Arthur met his manservant’s eyes and spoke in his official-princely voice that always got Merlin right in the feels, “They say I have the longest lance in all of Camelot. Wanna joust?”

Silence.

“Oh my god. Arthur, please reserve your pickup lines for the furniture, okay? I just- that was not okay.”

The blonde laughed heartily, “Is this?”

The prince placed a kiss upon his manservant’s lips. The action started innocently enough, though began to escalade as these things usually do. Of course this would be the time the door would open and Gaius would enter, breaking the busy pair apart at an impressive speed. The physician took one look at the situation, completely unfazed, and said, 

“Merlin, you whore.”


End file.
